


Grow your own hope

by thevernacularium



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Break Up, Epilogue, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Not Epilogue Compliant, Old Friends, divorce is not a dirty word
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevernacularium/pseuds/thevernacularium
Summary: John doesn't really know what to do when he and Abigail break up.Then a figure from his old life returns. A life he sometimes forgets he ever lived.What does he decide to do when a ghost from his childhood returns?
Relationships: Abigail Roberts Marston/John Marston, John Marston & Original Female Character(s), John Marston/Original Character(s), John Marston/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	Grow your own hope

**Author's Note:**

> I'm placing this story in a AU where John and Abigail realize that they are not meant to be and their relationship ends. Divorce isn't always a bad thing guys, some relationships need to end. 
> 
> I don't really know where this is going, but let me know if you like it and maybe there will be more!

John’s boots clattered on the wooden slat board flooring on the porch of the Strawberry post office. He didn’t like coming into town. The wagon ride in with Jack has been … challenging. He didn’t have much chance to spend time with the boy. Felt like the kid hated him. Lately he felt like Abigail hated him too. Like he was running head long into a brick wall with his family. He didn’t know what to do or say, and felt like he kept messing it up. He scrubbed a hand over his bearded face as he entered the post office.

He approached the service desk and cleared his throat. “ ‘Scuse me sir. Just need to pick up a parcel.” 

“What’s the name.” The postal clerk didn’t even look up from his papers. 

“Well…” replied John slowly. “ might be under Milton. Jim Milton.” 

The clerk turned and rifled through the parcels and packages behind the desk. “ Nope. No Milton here.”

John sighed, casting his eyes around the room. The only other patrons was a woman, dressed in clean city clothes, and a pair of men with travel stained jackets “Try ... Marston.” He said, his voice soft so as not to overheard “John Marston. It’s a long story.” 

“Marston…. Marston…” the postal clerk muttered, his voice louder than John would have liked. “Nope, no Marston either.” 

“Ok,” John pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration “Try Abigail Roberts.” He heard the little bell above the door chime. The woman had walked out of the building. The men in the corner eyed him up. He didn’t like their gaze. 

“Ah here we go.” The clerk handed John a package wrapped in brown paper. John sighed a little in relief. The postal clerk organized the other packages that John was to collect for the ranch, and then he headed out the door.

The men from the post office had ambushed his wagon on the way back to the ranch. He cursed the clerk’s loud mouth as he dispatched the threat with two carefully placed bullets.He and Jack had made it out safely, but only just. Jack wouldn’t even look at him, and had run inside, slamming the door as soon as they arrived back to their little cabin. Try as John might, he felt more at home in the few minutes it took to kill those threatening his family, than he had for weeks working at the ranch. 

Abigail left that week. She’d yelled herself hoarse at John and had left him with nothing but a letter when she packed her and Jack’s meagre belonging and disappeared while John was working. John was alone. Utterly alone in a life he didn’t fully understand. The letter she’d left very clearly stated that she would not be returning. She wrote that she felt there was no way that he would change and refused to wait around for him any longer. 

* * *

_ John,  _

_ I know we’ve shared a lot of time and heartache together but I feel like we’d be better off on our own. The idea of staying together for the boy isn’t working. He can’t be happy while we’re both so miserable. I’m taking him to live in town. I have a job and a friend who is renting us a room. It ain’t much, but it’s stable and it’s real.  _

_ I wish you the best for your life, really, I do, but the boy needs schooling and a safe home. I think we both know you can’t give him that. I won’t say you didn’t try your hardest, but you are who you are and I know I can’t hold you from that.  _

_ Abigail _

* * *

He drank a fifth of whiskey that night and lay on the grass in front of his cabin staring at the stars. Maybe she was right. He’d tried so hard to be the man she wanted him to be, but he didn’t know how to do it anymore. They were miserable together. He brought on the worst in her, and she in him. Maybe it was better this way. He didn’t know. What he did know was the thing they had been trying to hold together wasn't working. The next morning, he rose with a pounding head and the taste of stale liquor on his tongue

He toiled at the ranch for another couple of weeks, but without Abigail or Jack around, the endeavour felt somewhat fruitless. He’d heard from someone in town that she had rented her own cabin and was doing well at her cleaning job. It seemed that the doctor she was cleaning for had taken a shine to her, and they had been seen walking arm in arm in town. He was surprised that the news didn’t bother him more. Something in him changed when he heard about Abigail’s new beau, it was like the last vestiges of his disguise wer slipping off. 

That afternoon, he pulled his case out from under the bed and tossed a change of clothes onto the bed. Remnants of an old life. He changed out, donned his hat and his spurs, slung a rifle over his shoulder and made for the door. He was about to pull the door open when he heard a soft knock. 

He paused. “Who is it?” The other ranch hands didn’t knock. They usually just yelled at him through the door when they needed his attention. 

“Is...is this…Mr Milton… Mr Jim Milton?” A woman’s voice asked. 

He cracked the door and peered out. It took him a moment, but he recognized her from the post office the day he and Jack had been attached. She was dressed in a long dark skirt, and wore a honey coloured long sleeve blouse. Her hair was done in a long braid down her back. “I’m sorry to impose on your dat Mister, but I was told that I might find Mr Milton here.” John opened the door a bit further. 

“Sure. “ he said slowly “You found him. What can I do for you ma’am?” 

“Well..I...I’m not sure really.” She seemed a bit flustered. Her green eyes raked over John, taking in his scars, the angry looking spurs, battered hat and long arm over his shoulder. “Maybe you can’t help me at all, but I had to try.” 

She paused and took a slow breath “ I saw you in town.” She began “ In the post office. It was a while ago, but it took some time to track you down out here. You said a name I recognized.” 

John’s eyes narrowed slightly. 

“It was a name I hadn’t heard in… well… gotta be at least 25 years. Mr Milton did you know a James Marston?” 

John hadn’t been expecting that. The name of his father fell like a blow to the gut. After a moment of silence he croaked out “James Marston’s long dead.” 

She smiled a little “I’m well aware of that Mister. More interested if you might…. Well this seems a bit silly now that I’m saying it out loud.” Her finger played with a loose thread on the sleeve of her blouse. She took a deep breath and her eyes darted around nervously.

John stared at the woman “How did you know James Marston” his eyes were dark and his hand started to twitch toward his sidearm. He advanced a step towards her.

“You know what, this was a mistake. Don’t pay me any mind. I’m….I’m sorry to interrupt your day Mr Marston… MILTON sorry.” She took a step backwards. “Just forget I said anything at all. I just thought… just thought I recognized you was all. Thought I recognized… well.. an old friend I suppose. Must have been mistaken.” She made to take another step back, but her boot heel caught on a root and she began to topple backwards. John instinctually lunged out and caught her by the arm, pulling her upright, the inertia sending her body into his, her hands coming to rest flat on his chest. She smelled like lavender soap and washing powder. He released her quickly. 

“Jesus lady, I’m sorry.”

“Margaret” she said “Margaret Dalton.”

His memory flashed back some 25 years. A _ boy and a girl hid in a closet, giggling to each other as they played a hand slapping game. She was missing one of her top baby teeth, and grinned widely at him when she won the game. She wore a patched floral dress and her hair stuck out from her messy braids. Outside the closet, there was the sound of heavy footfalls, the door to the main room creaked open and loud, angry adult voices could be heard. Both children were silent, hidden in the little closet. The was a scuffle, followed by the heavy sound boots hitting flesh and a pained groan. The little girl gasped and stared at the boy. Her eyes were full of fear.  _

_ Loud voices. “I swear to god James Marston, this is the last time you cross me.” The boy shuffled over and held her in a hug “S’okay. I’ll protect you.” she hugs him back. He can feel her trembling. The pair sit in the closet. A loud bang from the room pierces the air. The sounds of a body hitting the ground, followed by foot steps, walking heavily down the stairs. The children stay in the closet for a long time. When they finally leave, it’s dark. A middle aged man lies dead in the middle of the room. “Don’t look” whispered the boy, holding the little girl close. _

He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “Maggie Dalton?” His voice wavered a bit.

Her eyes looked sad. “Little Johnny Marston. You got tall.” 

Without another word he stepped towards her and wrapped her in a hug.  
  
  
  



End file.
